by Luna Quinn
And he would have been happy with a simple crush—catching glimpses of her from afar with a few of their usual interactions thrown into the mix—but then she had gone and stolen his rifle, and released all sorts of emotions in him like he was some kind of Pandora’s box. And to make matters worse, she’d gone and kissed him tonight.
As if that weren’t enough, she had then let Razor see that their kiss had unsettled her, too. She hadn’t been able to hide that from him. Her eyes had been alight with it for a second just as she’d pulled back from him. His heart had been beating so fast he thought it might have been ready to jump right into her hands then and there. A dangerous thing.
But then her usual cold indifference had promptly gone up over her features again, and everything had gone back to normal.
Goddess, why had she given him that kiss? An incredible, perfect, and addictive kiss. A kiss he never thought he would get. Was it any wonder he was a fucking mess right now? How could he not be?
He licked his lips, thinking he might be imagining her taste still on his lips.
Had he even been kissed that way before? Razor knew the answer was fuck no. He would have remembered a kiss like that. He hadn’t stolen it, or coaxed it from her. She had given it to him willingly, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his beast. Whether Sasha had done it to shut him up or for some deeper, more complex reason didn’t seem to matter. It had happened, and it complicated things between them.
“Violence is a lot better than curling up and wishing for a death that never comes.”
Razor snarled as he heard the echo of her voice in his head, the rest of their encounter coming forth with the words.
He wanted to know who had hurt her to such a degree that it caused a strong woman like Sasha to look so defeated.
When he had asked her if her bursts of violence were over someone getting a little too close to the truth, it had been a rhetorical question. He hadn’t even been expecting an answer. The look of pain as she had answered it anyway had him…feeling things. Things that went beyond attraction and lust and curiosity. Front and center was the need to kill whoever it was that had put that look on her face. He’d felt protective of her, which was another new experience.
Stomping noisily into the bathroom, he pulled out his basket of toiletries from the countertop. The cut from Sasha’s dagger would heal soon enough, but there was a trail of blood that had dried on his skin. He wiped at the blood angrily with a wet washcloth.
What he really should have been doing, instead of stomping around trying to decipher his relationship with her, was setting up boundaries between them, at least while the case was active. Razor was a professional; this wasn’t his first rodeo. Besides, Sasha had said it best: she wasn’t a damsel in distress, and he sure as fuck wasn’t some knight.
Maybe he would give her tasks, take her with him only when needed, and then all would be well.
Yeah, that was it. Stay focused, stay professional. He could handle that.
Except he had a gut feeling this thing between them was only going to get worse before it got better. If it ever did.
Nevertheless, that didn’t change the fact that he had to work with her. So until they solved this mystery of the missing souls and melting bodies, they had to keep it all business.
He was a civil man, with lots of self-control, wasn’t he? And honestly, how much worse could it really get between them?
Shut up before you jinx it. Tossing the blunt he’d just finished in the sink, he stretched his neck, still feeling the edges of his irritation even with the Sasha situation somewhat settled.
Deciding that what he needed was a good long run, he left his house quickly, and didn’t stop until he was outside and a good distance from his building. There, he allowed his Hellhound to take over.
The shift of muscles came quickly, faster than usual. He wasn’t shocked. Strong emotions made it harder to maintain the human facade they had perfected over the centuries. It caused them to crave the shift to Hellhound form until it was all they could think about. Sometimes they ended up shifting without even realizing it.
Back in the Underworld, most of their time had been spent in Hellhound form, their human side becoming uncomfortable to be in. Which was a dangerous thing; the more time spent in beast form, the greater the risk of losing yourself to the beast, of becoming a mindless creature.
Their father had nearly accomplished it, too, drilling it into them that their purpose in life was to kill for him and their kingdom. Erummon had wanted them to live and breathe only for the Underworld, making it clear that they were nothing but guard dogs, creatures made for death, and loyal only to him.
The bastard had been pretty fucking shocked when they’d walked out on him and his precious Underworld. And on two legs, no less.
Bones cracked and reset, muscles stretched and grew as the most agonizing and beautiful pain washed over him. It took less than two heartbeats, but it was enough to change his mood instantly. The euphoria that came with shifting always made his dick hard. It wasn’t so much sexual as it was his primal brain experiencing the pleasure of switching on and shoving the human thoughts back a pace. Though they were certainly not gone—only less in your face.
Being in Hellhound form was like changing into a pair of favorite jeans. It was a feeling of complete and utter relief, a contentment hard to express in words. Everything was less urgent. Nothing was as important as pack, or as running, playing, feeling the wind in your fur, and hunting prey.
Killing. Feasting.
When he was in his human skin, time was always ticking away and shoving him forward. There was always something or other that needed his attention yesterday. But as a Hellhound, time didn’t really exist.
He inhaled the night air, stretching and letting the wind ruffle his pelt for a moment. He imagined what he must look like to a bystander: an enormous wolf-like beast with short, glossy black fur. Paws the size of basketballs, with blue Hellfire flames licking up each leg, and a tail with sharp barbs on the tip, twitching to and fro.
His sharp black claws clicked against the concrete sidewalk as he took a few steps, testing his surroundings with all his senses. When he smelled nothing out of the ordinary, Razor let his instincts guide him and took off running.
As he passed streets and the people milling about them, he heard gasps. He tried to look as non-threatening as possible. Even made an effort to smile at them, realizing too late as people began paling in terror and scrambling out of his way, that in this form, his smile was coming off more like I’ll-murder-you-with-these-teeth-and-enjoy-it and less see-no-danger-here-I’m-just-a-big-softy-at-heart. Whoops. He stopped smiling.
Although it wasn’t rare to see one of them in Hellhound form walking the city, it still made some people uneasy. They might logically understand that the beast would turn human soon enough, but a seven-foot creature that could kill them with a swipe of its paw would always be dangerous.
He ran until he was at the back entrance of the Night House, relieved that it hadn’t yet opened to the public.
Sniffing the air, he caught the scents of his brothers. Night, Sin, and, surprisingly, Edge were all inside the club. Edge usually preferred to spend his time handing out assignments at the Assassin’s Guild rather than to hang out at Night’s. He wondered what had brought him out to the club tonight.
Sin, who ran what Night liked to refer to as the Hellhound Operational Techroom, or (cue eye roll) H.O.T for short, was more or less always at the club—just not upstairs in the main club areas. H.O.T was below ground, and housed all of Sin’s fancy tech toys.
It came as no surprise that Night was there. He lived and breathed the Night House.
He howled for his brothers, needing them tonight. Needing their heat at his side as he went on the run he so eagerly craved. His brothers weren’t just his pack—they were parts of his soul. They were one of the few things that Razor and his beast couldn’t live without.
The back door of the club crashed op
en. Edge prowled out, followed by Night, and then Sin. They caught sight of him, and their eyes went instantly Hellfire-blue before they shifted simultaneously.
Edge trotted up to him—his form the biggest of them all—and nipped at Razor’s snout. It was a silent question.
“I need to run,” Razor answered in his mind, knowing his brothers could hear him in theirs. Razor’s paws fidgeted anxiously.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Sin said with a relieved breath. “I thought someone had died with the doom and gloom you’ve got going on.”
“No deaths. Yet. But the night’s still young.”
Night moved smoothly around Sin and Edge, heading for Razor. His strides remained as urbane and measured as they were in his human skin.
He sniffed the air around Razor. “It’s a woman, isn’t it? You smell like the frustration only a woman can bring.”
“No.” Not a lie. But not entirely the truth, either.
“Who is she? What has she done that has you so edgy?”
“You going to run with me, or are you going to interrogate me, asshole?”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
He bared his fangs at Night.
Night’s expression was incredulous. He turned to the others. “The whelp just fanged me.”
Sin and Edge rolled their eyes.
“Come on, spill. Who is she, little brother?” Night pressed.
“Night, let it go,” Sin warned.
“No, I want to know who is making our self-possessed, nothing-gets-my-panties-in-a-twist brother get his panties all twisty.”
He lunged for Night, but Sin side-tackled Razor and took him down before he could reach Night.
Night sat on his haunches. “That was way too easy.”
“Children,” Edge muttered mentally. When they didn’t immediately get up, Edge snarled at them in reprimand.
They all stopped glaring at each other.
He wanted to bite Night, but, unfortunately, Night was right. Razor had been too easily goaded. It was time to run.
Still, as he passed him, Razor bared his fangs at Night for being an asshole.
When they were all surrounding Edge, their brother howled up at the dark sky. As the most dominant, Edge would always lead them.
They howled back in unison. When Edge finally took off, they all moved as one, flanking him as they crashed into the forest.
Glowing turquoise eyes remained in the background of his mind during the entire run.
Chapter Seven
Sasha couldn’t believe it. She was voluntarily going into Sector One. That in and of itself should have been enough to shock her. Sector One was the city of the entire Shadow Realm. It was where anyone who was anyone stayed, which was why the Night House was the center of Sector One. Sasha liked to joke that the entire Sector had been built around Night’s ego, though she was sure it wasn’t far from the truth.
Instead of using her Reaper ability to zap from one place to another in a heartbeat, Sasha decided to take the long way and use the magical gateways that connected the massive land that made up Shadow Realm. After the Great Fires, several earthquakes, destruction, and much chaos later, the land had shifted from what it had once been. Now it looked almost nothing like what the old history books depicted.
Sasha wasn’t used to taking gateways, but instead of getting frustrated when groups of people slowed her journey down, she used the time to get lost in her thoughts for a little while.
It wasn’t something she usually did.
She could admit that Razor was getting to her, knocking her off balance, and she was running out of things to hold on to. While she usually ignored the things that didn’t benefit her endgame until they disappeared—or she just ran away from them—Razor wasn’t going anywhere. Which meant Sasha had to suck it up and deal with her issues. Sort of. So she was taking the initiative to go to him, on his territory. She’d apologize and hope they could start over. And hopefully that meant forgetting about the kiss she’d so stupidly let herself give him.
No matter how nice it had been to feel good in that moment, she was focused on work now. On finishing their investigation on a mature level. No feelings necessary.
Sasha exited the gateway nearest the Night House, and it was still early enough that the crowd was only beginning to grow.
Strolling up to the club, Sasha took in everything she usually ignored. The Night House was built more like a mansion or a castle, and could be seen for miles. The line to get inside always wrapped around the sides of the building. Clothes didn’t seem to be required, since once inside, people always ended up fucking in one way or another, anyway.
Sexuality was a part of life in Shadow Realm, and no matter which Sector you were in, no one would look twice at public sex or nudity. But something about the Night House ramped up the sex and sensuality to an almost outrageous degree. Once over the threshold, inhibitions were absolutely gone. Sex, alcohol, and drugs flowed freely. Sasha had it on good authority that as unrestricted as the club seemed, Night ruled over everything. He personally checked on which drugs were coming in and out of his club, and never let dirty or tainted drugs inside. The alcohol they served was only top shelf. Undercover bodyguards roamed the rooms within to make sure everything going on was as safe as possible, and they never hesitated to step in if there was any kind of real trouble.
Even with all those precautions, the club was always chaotic. Chaos was kind of Sasha’s element, so that wasn’t why she avoided the place unless she absolutely had to go inside.
It was because of those damn Hellhounds.
The four brothers had claimed and owned the Realm for centuries, and Sasha had lived under their ruling since nearly the beginning. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them, it was just that she had a low tolerance for bullshit. The most relevant synonym for Hellhound was arrogant fucker. Sasha didn’t have time to deal with them. And two of the Hellhounds in particular—Edge and Razor—provided her with the majority of her soul collections. She had to clean up after their messes, and, damn, did they know how to leave a mess.
She had always maintained a strictly business relationship with Edge, Razor, and Night. The real surprise was when she had befriended Sin, the youngest Hellhound, not long after moving to Shadow Realm. When she visited with the Hellhounds, it was Sin who she sought out. He was, by far, the easiest of the four to get along with.
Because of the close business relationship the Reapers and Hellhounds maintained, but also because of the friendships that had been created over the centuries, Sasha, Locke, and Archer had all been given access to the metaphorical backdoor to the club—a secret underground parking garage with access to all levels of the club, where the Hellhounds also stored extra vehicles. There, they could slip in and out of the Night House as frequently as they wanted without drawing any attention.
Entering the garage now, Sasha took a quick glance around to look at the collections of different cars, trucks, and motorcycles. Since the brothers didn’t always drive, it was impossible to tell who was there at any given time. Any other day, Sasha would have prayed for the good fortune of not running into Razor. Today, she was actually looking to having a civilized conversation with him.
Surely the apocalypse was right around the corner.
Especially after she’d pulled that stunt of letting him see her vulnerability and kissing him. She almost regretted that. Almost. In that one moment, it had been nice to take the weight off her shoulders and just enjoy feeling again.
Taking a fortifying breath, Sasha rode the elevator up to the second floor, the VIP level of the club. She would have gone to the fourth floor, where the personal living quarters were, but there was little chance that any of the Hellhounds were there. In her experience, they used their private rooms only when it was convenient, and not necessarily on a regular basis. It was just easier to check in with Night to see where he might be.
Even this early, there were people everywhere inside the club, the VIP only barely less
crowded than the main floor. Sasha was used to all the activity around her, though, and slipped through the throngs of people, making her way to Night’s office. Night could almost always be found in his office, though it was a fifty-fifty chance whether he was using his desk for business, or for pleasure.
But when Sasha opened the door, there was no one inside. The infamous desk was there with paperwork on it, and nothing messed up to indicate Night had taken a partner to bed or elsewhere. He was just gone. It was odd, but nothing to be overly concerned with. The club owner did frequently step out to monitor activities in person.
If Night wasn’t around, then there was one brother she could count on knowing everything she needed to know: Sin.
The youngest Hellhound was a hoarder of information and technology. If Sasha needed to know where someone was, Sin had the capability to find them in seconds. Just about every piece of surveillance around the entire Shadow Realm was installed and monitored by Sin and a few trusted employees. He had eyes and ears everywhere. He also preferred his private sanctuary over the nonstop chaos within the club.
Sasha walked out of Night’s office and back into the elevator. It listed six floors. The bottom level was marked only with the “§” symbol, and had a key slot next to it. Sasha dug a key out of her pocket and turned it in the keyhole. The doors slid closed and the elevator descended. When the doors opened again, a vision of every geek’s wet dream beckoned her inside.
Monitors lined the walls, and different computers, laptops, and tablets filled table after table. Sasha was one of the very, very few people with access to Sin’s private lab, and had sworn on pain of death that she would never touch a thing without permission.
“Sin? Hey, where are you?” Sasha called, her voice loud enough to carry throughout the massive space.